Bounty Hunter Business
by Blue Deliverance
Summary: Greatly inspired by Episode II, I decided to try my hand at a bounty hunter story. {Complete}
1. Prologue

**__**

A Long Time Ago In A Galaxy Far, Far away...

Prologue

A shadowy figure stood atop a rocky outcropping. After carefully scanning the heavily armored, tall prison base below him, he stood up slowly, stretching his back. He had spent hours on this outcropping, waiting for Kessell's prisoners to be drawn in, and watching the small sun go down; sunsets on this planet were as harsh as the prisons that swarmed its surfaces, the ones dealing punishment to its inhabitants.

__

Punishment. They don't know punishment. Every day we face true torture…such is the life of a bounty hunter, reflected the man known as Jango Fett.

Jango Fett had his reasons to be cautious, despite being the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy. His mission set him in a dangerous position, and he wasn't taking any chances. A bounty hunter's job was one of life and death, death that arose on swift wings and took the form of peacekeepers and murderers alike. That was why he had chosen his own partner to back him on his ludicrous position: a mission to retrieve a piece of "hard merchandise" that had fallen into the wrong hands.

That partner, a figure now clouded in solid shadows, cautiously approached him now, setting a small hand upon his strong shoulder.

"You've been up here for hours now, long since the prisoners fell into their prisons." A strong woman's voice, which sounded about in its early thirties, stated. "I'm tired of waiting for your signal, so I had to ask: what is it, Jango?"

Jango glanced over at his partner, a female changeling called Zam Wesell. His jaw still locked in a strong position, he wrestled with revealing the source of his worry.

"Nothing, Zam," he lied, deciding that until the mission was over, he felt no need to brief his partner on intimate details. He quickly changed the subject to divert her attention. "Are you prepared?"

Zam held up a blaster pistol and a handful of thermal detonators. "This is all I need," she said with a cold smirk.

Jango nodded knowingly. "Good," he said.

He slid his helmet on over his chiseled, handsome features, and was instantly hit by an incredible array of screens inside the cold mask, checking his entire suit of battle armor for complications and functions. Behind him, strapped to his back, he felt his jetpack roar to life and pierce the darkness of the night around him.

He expertly eased himself off the mesa, down one hundred feet to the ground. In the peripheral of his visor, he could see his changeling partner expertly advance down the hill side, partly sliding, partly running, to disappear into the shadows on the ground cast by a nearby boulder.

Spotlights glared down around the surrounding rocks. Set in a gigantic, dark crater, the prison base they were infiltrating was illuminated by many spotlights and glowrods; and was guarded by a myriad of highly trained droids serving as guards.

"Well," Zam's voice echoed through the comlink in Jango's helmet. "Let's go for it."

"After you," replied Jango.

"Very well," Zam replied. Jango heard the comlink crackle a moment before Zam checked in again. "I'll take out the spotlights and you take out the guard droids."

"No," was Jango's reply, cold and flat on the other end. "I don't want to risk detection. Don't forget that this is a galactic call," he reminded her. "There will undoubtedly be others on our backs, and there is no need to call attention to ourselves."

"Then how do you suggest we start?"

Jango motioned towards a rock outcropping opposite their location. "Look."

On the high ledge Zam could just barely make out two shapes on the mesa. She switched her night goggles on and surveyed the intruders.

"It looks like a Trandoshan," she surmised after a moment. "And a… an assassin droid unit?"

"That's what I thought," replied Jango. "My guess is Craddosk."

"Craddosk," she murmured under her breath; she recognized the name from horror stories and frightful recollections. "What's the robot?"

"I don't know. Just keep an eye out." Jango slipped an ammunition pack into the barrel of his Westar-34 pistols. "We'll follow his lead."


	2. Chapter 1

****

Chapter 1

The night felt cold on Craddosk's reptilian scales. At temperatures like these, he often felt himself slowing down, and found it hard to breathe, to operate. He took a deep breath, and felt the cold air seep into his almost warm lungs.

He turned his bodysuit's thermal heaters up, and started down a steep hill towards the prison base below. The claws on his scaly feet served him some traction on the jagged, twisting path.

His target was a former space pirate and smuggler, a hefty alien called Dexter Jettster. He knew that this job would not be easy, but Craddosk was not one to back down when the mission became dangerous. Behind Craddosk came IG- 62, a lethal and deadly renegade assassin droid whom Craddosk had befriended -or rather, struck a deal with- on Malastare. Although the droid often got on Craddosk's nerves, the young Trandoshan was fortunate to have a being with such renowned skill on his side.

As they neared the bottom of the steep path, the two encountered a large boulder blocking their path.

"Think you can climb over that?" asked Craddosk, placing his hands on his hips.

The highly advanced droid took a brief second to analyze the situation. "_Not a problem_," it replied. " _I have a solution_."

"Yeah?" He said. "What's that?"

The Trandoshan's eyes widened in terror as IG- 62 ignited and dropped a small thermal detonator near the boulder.

"_No!_" cried Craddosk, and kicked the bomb into a deep crater flanking the narrow path before jumping to the ground. From the direction of the pit came a small concussive blast. IG-72 whirred and clicked in disapproval.

"No bombs! No explosions! No" – Craddosk lowered his voice- "Noise!"

The Trandoshan tossed a grappling hook over the large boulder in front of him, and offered the droid the trailing line. "Do you remember the briefing?"

IG- 62 ignored him, took the cable, and instead began his clumsy ascension of the large boulder in front of him.

Craddosk gnashed his teeth, barely containing his furious temper, and began the climb as well. "We have to work together, you idiot."

IG- 62, now over the boulder, answered. "_I work by myself. You are merely a helpful hand in my business_."

The Trandoshan sniffed disdainfully. "Then you had better watch your back."

IG- 62 gave a slight nod of his mechanical head.

Craddosk nodded as well. Now at the bottom of the hill, words aside, he concentrated on penetrating the gigantic fortress in front of him.

While flying overhead, he had noticed a small flaw in the prison's security; from the base's main hub ran an opaque tube made of glass that wound to the main docking bay outside the crater. Located on the sides of the tube were emergency escape locks. However, because light could not reach the places were some of the emergency exits were located, those places were monitored by heat sensors. Craddosk figured that since he was from a cold-blooded species, he could merely adapt his blood pressure and simulate the air around him, while IG- 62, being a droid, had no warm temperature at all. It was a brilliant plan, and could be put into action; if only they could get past the spotlights and snooping guards.

"You ready?" he said, tightening his muscles.

IG- 62 turned on his auto-targeting rifle. "_Yes, but the rocks_."

Craddosk turned a confused glance —at least, as confused a look as his inarticulate face would allow— upon his partner. "What?"

IG- 62 emitted a line of static, then repeated his observation. "_The rocks_."

Craddosk sighed at the robot's response. "I know that. What about them?"

Another line of static from IG- 62, and a garbled response. "_I don't figure the reason behind your_ _dialogue. Do you suggest I evaluate my plans?_"

"Yeah, that's it… evaluate." Craddosk was still slightly confused.

IG- 62 made a rigid gesture towards the many boulders surrounding the prison base. "_We might find sufficient cover behind these boulders_."

"Good Idea," Craddosk muttered. "Let's go for it."

They waited a couple minutes for the spotlights to loosen, then Craddosk jumped behind a small boulder. The spotlights glanced across his hiding place, and then he rolled to another. Silently, he motioned IG- 62 to follow him. The droid moved swiftly behind a boulder, then waited to follow the Trandoshan bounty hunter. Craddosk dived to another, IG- 62 followed suit. Slowly, they advanced across the dusty plain, until they ran into a problem.

"The boulders are gone!" Craddosk exclaimed.

" '_They are gone'? You suggest they have ceased, correct?_" IG-62 inquired mechanically.

"Yes. They stop… er… cease as we come closer to the tube." Craddosk stumbled with his dialogue, trying to mechanically communicate to the droid. "I'm going to have to make a run for it."

"_Very well;, do as you please. I'm adaptable._"

Craddosk inhaled and started off, his twin hearts beating rapidly. With incredible speed, his muscular legs pumping up and down, he expertly weaved in and out of the spotlights, dodging behind the many boulders that dotted the landscape and at the same time avoiding the snooping guard droid's sensors.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that IG- 62 had activated his anti-grav repulsorlifts for a speedier trip across the landscape. It also left him invulnerable to the debris on the ground.

The reptile nodded with approval before reaching the tube.

"Nice work," panted Craddosk, gasping. "That went well."

A moment passed while they caught their breath; then came the tough part.

"We made it!" he sighed in relief, just know realizing what had happened.

"_Yes_," IG- 62 said mechanically. "_Except for them_,"

"How...?" Craddosk's breath caught in his dry throat as he realized the meaning behind IG- 62's statement.

Coming over the landscape was a fleet of shining, heavily armed guard droids; their electronic gazes focused on Craddosk and his partner.

"_Halt!_" The lead guard said across the landscape in an electronic voice. IG- 62 and Craddosk answered with a line of blaster fire, knocking the lead droid's right arm off. The action stunned the guard for a moment.

"Go Go Go!" Shouted Craddosk, shoving his partner towards the nearest door. "Blast it open!"

By this time the fleet had backed their captain up, and had begun blasting with deadly accuracy. Craddosk answered with a string of blaster fire himself.

"_What about the plans_?" asked IG- 62, hesitating for a moment.

"Who cares about the plans?" yelled Craddosk, dodging a blaster bolt. "Our cover's blown anyway! Blast it open!"

IG- 62 shrugged, then raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

Sirens immediately went off all around the complex as the two bounty hunters backed their way into the makeshift entrance. "Close it off!" yelled Craddosk.

"_Very we_ll." IG- 62 dropped a grenade at the tunnel entrance. "_We'd better run_."

"Oh no-" Craddosk was cut off by IG- 62 pulling him down the tunnel, a decent 100 feet, before jumping on the floor.

"_Cover your head_," IG- 62 said calmly. Craddosk gritted his teeth, and braced for the imminent explosion.

The explosion rocked the entire compound, throwing most of the guards off their robotic feet.

Craddosk's eyes blinked open. He coughed painfully and looked up through the dim lights overhead.

Then wished he hadn't.

**__**

4 days ago…

He sat with the air of a man superior to others around him. His hair, tied up in a tight ponytail on his head, revealed also his demeaning confidence. Right now his high forehead was in a wrinkled state; his hands were held up in front of his face in a rigid cage.

In front of him stood a slightly less imposing figure; clad merely in a simple, tight black jumpsuit,

He only seemed dangerous to those who knew of his ruthless reputation. Right now, this man kneeled to the person in front of him.

"Why is it, my dear Djas Phur," said the higher man, seated in a chair with it's back turned to the simpler man, "that every time I assign you to these sorts of missions, you come back with negative results?"

"I'm sorry, Lord Xixor," said Djas Phur, his head still bowed. "I will do better next time. I did not mean to fail you. "

"And yet you did!" said Lord Xixor, prince of the Falleen, turning his chair away from the window. "And there may not be a next time for you!" Xixor rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his arm resting on the side of his throne. "But you lucky scum. You may have the chance to repay for your failure. I have a mission for you."

Djas Phur lifted his head, a look of confusion on his gruff face. "A mission?"

"Yes," replied Xizor. "A simple retrieval mission. Pick me up this piece of filth off Kessel, and return him alive." Xixor showed the man a hologram of Dexter Jettster. "This piece of merchandise is important to me because he knows many inside secrets of my business."

"I see, my Lord," Djas Phur bowed again. "I shall embark on my journey this instant."

"See to it that you do,' said Lord Xixor. "And make sure you keep this one alive."

"Indeed, my Lord," Djas Phur said before heading for the door. "And what pay do I receive in return?"

Xixor turned an amused gaze upon his underling. "Pay?" He said with a chuckle. "Succeed in this mission, and we shall discuss the length of your pitiful life."

"Yes, my Lord," Djas Phur said quietly, and left the room.

The lord turned his chair back towards the still darkness of space. He scowled and cursed in Falleen.

__

Why do I have to bother with such idiots? Xixor thought to himself.


	3. Chapter 2

****

Chapter 2

No comfort for the prisoners.

Dexter Jettster stumbled out of his sleep, awakening on a dirty metal floor of a dimly lit cell. His vision blurry, he could almost make out two figures outside his cage bars.

"No comfort for the prisoners. Take that water back," repeated the voice.

Jettster slid off his stiff sleeping pad, his thick hands bound behind his muscular back with liquisteel cables. "No…" he whispered painfully through his dry, callused throat. "Please… bring it back…". He painfully repeated his statement. "I… need… a drink."

The human guard took a quick glance at his caged prey. "You'll live," he said in disdain, nearly spitting at the trapped alien. Turning to the other guard, a Twi'lek, he repeated his order. "Take that water back."

"N…no…" the bulky alien slumped painfully to the ground, muttering unconceivable words. He eyelids squinted before falling shut.

"Yes sir," the Twi'lek said. "I'll return it immediately."

The human said nothing and walked briskly down the hall to check on the progress of other slaves.

Despite himself, the Twi'lek felt pity for the prisoner. After taking a quick look down the rock passage his commander had proceeded down, the slim alien knelt and poured a small cup of water through the bars and between the prisoner's lips. Dexter opened one bruised eye, and murmured something.

"What?" the guard said, leaning closer to the thick bars. Jettster lifted his head so he could be heard.

"Thanks… for the water…" he gasped strenuously, panting for breath. "But… could I ask you… for one more… favor?"

The Twi'lek gave a slight twitch with his leppuku. "Sure."

The larger alien gave a grunt of discomfort. "Could you… loosen these bands on my hands?"

"I don't know…" The Twi'lek rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Please… I'm begging you…"

The Twi'lek gave a sigh. "Alright. But no funny business."

The guard loosened the bands with a tool from his belt, then put the tool back as he stood up. "I hope you're thankful for this."

"I am." Dexter said weakly.

The Twi'lek turned on his heel, and like the former guard disappeared down a dark, winding corridor."

Back in the cage, the large alien's wide mouth split into a toothy grin. "I'm _very_ thankful." He said, slipping out of his bonds effortlessly.

Jango and Zam added their fire to the increasing madness in front of them. Again and again, Jango expertly picked off the guards, his blaster fire never missing its target.

"Another bounty hunter," Jango said, remaining calm even while blowing dozens of guards to scrap in front of him.

"Another?" she cried, dodging behind the boulder in front of her. "Where are they coming from?"

"It told you this was big," he said blasting two guards with one shot.

A quick boost from his jetpack brought him to the top of the boulder in front of him. From there, he commenced in blowing more guards to pieces.

"The more the better," she said, shrugging. "I could use some competition…"

Djas Phur stood in the blown open entrance tube, his pistol raised and tilted slightly in a cocky position.

"Don't move and you won't die," he said forcefully, strolling over to the other two bounty hunters.

"If you think we're going to go silently," Craddosk growled through his teeth, "Then you'd be mistaken!"

Craddosk executed a backflip, coming up and landing on the back of Djas Phur's shining, bald head.

Djas Phur landed hard, completely taken off guard.

"Why you…" Djas Phur rolled over and opened fire on Craddosk and his metallic partner.

Craddosk ducked behind a box-like air vent. At the same time, IG- 62 unleashed the power of his furious arm-mounted cannon.

Djas Phur now found himself between the crossfire of his two opponents. Drawing two guns from his belt, he started firing at IG- 62 and Craddosk, each with one gun; then he kicked a small thermal grenade at IG- 62 while jumping towards Craddosk.

The action caught Craddosk off guard. He stumbled back, tripping over an air hose, crashing to the ground.

IG- 62, however, analyzed the situation and responded awesomely. With considerable agility, it dove towards Djas, hitting him square in the chest with his cold, metal fist.

The thermal grenade sent everything, robot and humanoid alike, tumbling towards the ground. When the explosion ceased - which seemed like an eternity to Craddosk – it was seen that a great piece had been taken out of the floor. The walls flanking the grenade had been blown out, and the frigid outside air rushed into the tube.

Craddosk lifted his head; his head was spinning and his ears were filled with a sharp pinging noise. His arms were slightly burned; his legs weren't much better.

An iron arm wrapped around his neck brought him back to reality. Craddosk choked and coughed, gasping for air.

"A smart trick," Craddosk barked. "Better than I would have expected."

"Didn't you know that I'm nearly fireproof, fool?" Djas Phur hissed in his ear. "Explosions and blaster bolts don't affect me."

"How about a partnership?" Craddosk panted, his claws grasping at the arm about his neck. "We'd make a hell of a team team, you know? Besides," he said, gesturing towards IG- 62 lying motionless on the metal floor. "I think my former partner's out of this one."

The ceiling creaked as pieces of glass started falling from above.

"Team up with a coward like you? Never."

The durasteel beams bent and started sliding.

"I would rather kill you."

The walls started moving in.

"I think I will!"

"Actually," Craddosk said through awkward gasps, "I think we'll both be dead."

A look of confusion came over Craddosk's face for a second, and then he, too, looked upward. In a hurried motion that almost broke Craddosk's neck, Djas Phur quickly released his grip on his prisoner's neck and dashed towards the entrance to the prison base.

"I'll kill you!" Craddosk furiously screamed at Djas Phur while picking up his metal partner.

"No, you won't!" Djas Phur yelled back over his shoulder, disappearing into the depths of the tunnel.

Craddosk cursed under his breath, and skidded out the way he had come in.


	4. Chapter 3

****

Chapter 3

When Craddosk emerged from the tunnel, every last guard had been demolished by blaster fire. The once smooth landscape was cluttered by debris from rocks that had been blown open. However, the source of his coincidental rescuers was nowhere to be found.

They were edging their way along the perimeter of the compound, staying in the shadows.

"Are we there, Jango?" Zam asked, looking around, on the alert for attackers.

Jango said nothing, but motioned for her to be quiet. Kneeling close to the wall of the glass tube, they could see the silhouette of a bounty hunter coming towards them.

Zam backed away from the tube slowly. Silently, she motioned Jango back as well. Jango shook his head, signaling he wasn't moving. Zam grunted in frustration, and stood motionless as well.

Through the opaque glass, Zam could see the shadow playing with the locks on the heavily secured door. After a few minutes of Huttese profanity, the shape withdrew its blaster from a holster. The darkened figure aimed the blaster and pulled the trigger.

The tunnel instantly became a death row illuminated by crimson light, sending Zam spiraling towards the ground. Twisting, she landed hard on her shoulder and cried out in pain. Jango, although protected by his body armor, also went down hard on his ribcage.

The bolt of intense heat eventually broke through the tunnel 50 feet downwards, sending glass flying in all directions. The door hissed open.

The shape disappeared into the building escaping from the view of Jango and Zam. Jango raised a gloved hand and broke off a handful of sharp, protruding pieces of glass. Zam watched in curiosity as Jango placed a thermal grenade near the door, talking as he did.

"We have five standard minutes before this grenade implodes. We had better start moving."

Glass cracked under the force of Jango's boots as the fearless bounty hunter walked into the tunnel, clearing away small wreckage from the entrance.

Zam stepped in ahead of Jango as he rechecked his gear. Cautiously, she approached the door and drew her blaster, not quite knowing what to expect.

Broken glass and twisted durasteel littered the floor. Dim lights lit a narrow hallway stretching into murky darkness. There was no sign of the dark attacker, but Zam took a step forward with eyes still darting from side to side, checking all around her.

__

I know, she thought to herself, _because it happened once_. Smuggling goods across the Courascant slave mines, the changeling was once attacked by Gammorean pirates, pig-like raiders that often served huts. Little did she know their battle plans. Their plan of attack? Strike from above.

Instinctively, Zam tilted her head upward towards the high ceiling. Nothing, except dim lightbulbs.

She breathed a sigh of relief, but peering upwards had been the wrong move, for the hallway had come to an abrupt stop at a deep metal gorge. With a yelp, Zam came to the end of her walk and began plummeting downwards, her perilous path ended with a crimson reactor core beneath her! She grasped for a hold on anything, coming up short with nothing but cool air between her gloves.

Senses became lost as she found herself twisting in mid air, and she felt the hard heat of the reactor core rising menacingly close to her.

Zam closed her eyes for the melting impact against the power core, fighting her doom; just as Jango's whipcord wrapped around her forearm.

Her turbulent fall came to an abrupt end as the whipcord tightened. Her weight caused the rope to contract and release, bouncing her up some feet before the whipcord strengthened again. She felt her shoulder pop as she stopped bouncing.

Zam's head hanged down, trying to recover from the shock of her fall. The quiet hum of Jango's whipcord gave her something to focus on, a point for succeeding in regaining her senses.

By the time Jango's gloved hand wrapped around her thin wrist, she was back to reality. Jango looked quickly at her injured shoulder. Taking her shoulder in one hand and her forearm in the other, he gave an unusual twist of the arm, relocating the shoulder painlessly.

Zam brushed herself off, and the two stood still on the edge of the metal platform. She now saw that they were standing in a large, round room, a room resembling a hollowed out sphere. Around three- quarters of the edge of the room was a walkway. In the middle of the room rose a solid, tube-like platform, on which crates were piled. In the center of the platform was a sleek metal elevator. Metal beams supported the platform; below the metal beams lay a burning power core.

Zam's gaze was promptly drawn downward. She couldn't resist but eye the power core, a bursting ball of crimson flame, its innermost structure a blinding white light. A miniature sun of definite respect, specked with strips of deep, calm rows of gentler heat.

"If you keep staring at it," Jango Fett warned, "You will go blind within the hour."

But it's calm rolling entranced her eyes, drawing her undivided attention…

…And then the blaster bolt flew past her. Nearing her face, it circled back off a magnetically sealed wall somewhat to the left of her, incredibly bouncing off every surface of the compound it touched. Jango reached out with his right arm, knocking Zam out of the path of fire from another bolt aimed at her heart, then blew away the attacker: a squat, robotic guard droid on repulsorlifts, without arms but weapons replacing appendages.

Zam caught herself gymnastically on her left arm, at the same time drawing her blaster with her right and firing at another guard droid through and under Jango's left arm.

But the droids kept spilling out of narrow doors onto metal bridges, firing relentlessly at the two intruders.

"Zam," Jango said evenly, "activate the controls for the bridge."

She ducked under a blaster bolt, working her way over, around and between the raining laser fire. She dodged behind a box-like control panel, nearly avoiding a stray bolt reflected off a wall. When a string of assault came in the form of a C7 Kuat random repeating blaster, she jumped over it. Inky death reached out towards her, consuming sharp-angled corners, occasionally being lit by the glare of launched and reflected blaster bolts. Dots, hundreds of flaming hot dots, flew in her direction from lethal blasters locked and loaded for an untimely death.

"Zam, we only have 14.3 seconds before the bomb implodes." Jango had stood his ground without being hit, demolished a dozen guards, and retain an air of passive calm simultaneously.

She reached out and smacked the _power_ button control with her palm. A warning signal, urging to leave space around the bridge, flashed on the screen, accompanied by beeping noises as the bridge slowly extended.

A roll, a dodge, a dive, and Zam was on the bridge. She blasted two guards and jumped to her feet, dodging as she went. A stray bolt struck two inches near her foot, and she cried out in pain while still moving forward. Blowing away her attacker, she jumped the last 5 feet onto the opposite side, hiding behind a small crate. She cautiously glanced at her wrist chronometer.

5 seconds to go before the explosion; she covered her eyes with her arm.

She never knew an explosion could hurt so much: she was thrown back at first, her spine smashed against the close lying crate, converting minute protection into lethal weapon. A second later, the heated crate exploded, and she was thrown to the edge of the bridge, barely retaining consciousness. The smoke from the blast seeped into the round room after the explosion, dimming the ceiling mounted lights and casting grainy shadows on the floor.

Zam wearily lifted her head and peered out under half-closed eyelids; Jango was nowhere to be found.

Every bone in her body ached, so lifting her body off the floor was slow and painful. One arm hanged over the edge of the platform; Zam suspected from the searing pain it was now broken.

No problem for the female changeling, though; now sitting upright, she focused her thoughts onto one thing only.

She withdrew inside her mind, concentrating on what to become. A Bothamirian, perhaps? No matter what creature, as long as it worked. A Wookie seemed right, for a long arm of a Wookie would help to straighten the damaged limb. Arranging the picture inside her mind, she imagined every atom of a Wookie; it was the only path to rearranging her personal molecular structure. Slowly, she pressed this picture into her brain, telling herself she was a strange, hairy animal. Her brain accepted this readily, and her body began to change. Slowly, at first, then more rapidly, the female body began to expand, starting with her injured arm, then moved to her chest. Her head took on a bear-like shape, fur grew out across her entire body. Her legs stretched farther, farther, her purple flight suit and battle armor tearing to reveal thick fur beneath and the thin, tall appearance of a Wookie. Her battle helmet, which had been tucked under her arm, could never fit the wide dimensions of her strange head now.

The previously stout changeling, now a tall, sinewy giant, slowly rose and stretched it's arms and back.

Zam, pleased with the efficiency of her change — for it took a mere five seconds for this change to occur — reverted back to her standard humanoid form, pleased further by her perfectly healed arm.

Zam Wesell directed her attention elsewhere, mostly on the lookout for her steely partner.

A gloved hand broke through a pile of rubble, setting a small cloud dust floating across the entrance, now reduced to a miserable pile of melting steel and rock. Jango Fett rose through the heap of junk with inhuman ease, stood up, and brushed pieces of metal off himself. After checking his blasters, he strolled over to his changeling partner.

"I've sealed off the entrance. Now, whomever wants to enter this compound will have to blow through seven layers of liquitane coated durasteel. Let us proceed."

"Sure," she said, examining her shredded jumpsuit. "Have an extra pair of armor?"

After stepping off the elevator, Djas Phur had found himself in a long tunnel spaciously yet uncomfortably lined on either side by small holding cells. Instantly, his mind told him this was not the right area in which such "hard merchandise" as Dexter Jettster was being held. He knew such a hefty prisoner would be kept in a smaller, darker prison, or even solitary confinement. He had to keep moving.

__

But to where? He thought. Any step he took could result in dozens, or possibly _thousands _of guards spilling into the tunnel; maybe on both sides of him. Djas knew he couldn't risk his neck so easily: he had to wait.

Dexter Jettster had sat motionless on the hard bench for hours now. In his hands was clutched a long, metal pipe that he had pried off the sink on the opposite side of his cage. When he heard someone advancing down the dark corridor towards his holding cell, his mind automatically reviewed his carefully organized plan of motion.

The unwittingly unfortunate guard, that now stood outside Dexter's cell door, peered into the dark room and barked a gruff, simple command, exploiting his apparent lack of intelligence. "Food's here slave. Eat."

Dexter Jettster's heart raced as his plan fell into motion. Now sunk back into the pitch-black corner of his holding cell, he faked a sickly tone of voice. "I can't… eat right now…. I feel sick…"

The guard pulled his digi-keys from the leather belt surrounding his girth. "Alright," he said with a broken sigh, further information for Jettster that the guard was a death stick addict. "What are your sym—"

A large shape sprang from his makeshift hiding place and smashed the pipe across the guard's back with a hollow thump, cutting the heavy man's words off. Moving unusually fast for his regular speed, Dexter Jettster removed the keys from the unconscience man's belt and with great agility darted swiftly out the door. He concealed the digi-keys in the pocket of his orange jumpsuit as he started down yet another dark passage, one hand on the rocky wall for guidance.

"If I'm gonna get outta this dump, I'm gonna need a weapon of some kind." Dexter mumbled to himself, fearing he would alert someone or something. "But where'm I gonna find a decent blaster around _here_?"

Dexter Jettster analyzed the problem with interest and fear, both colliding in a whirlwind of unease. He wasn't worried about the limp guard lying in the middle of his cell floor; his comrades would think he had died on the job of presumed death stick cancer. Dexter was instead fretting over the odds that he would be able to escape from the clutches of one of the most feared prison complexes in the galaxy, not to mention one of the most feared planets in the universe.

What were the odds of his escape?

He clutched the long rod tighter as the tunnel went pitch dark, and everything was indiscernible. He couldn't even detect the ceiling, as far as his eyes were concerned.

His black work boots ceased crunching on dry rocks as Dexter stepped into a long, metal hallway. He now saw that the further down he advanced, dim lights inset in the metal walls would illuminate brighter. The light was bright enough now that he could see where he was going: coming upon a metal door, now shielded by blast doors and a laser generator-detector.

Dexter felt his heart sink slowly down into his stomach: this route was hopelessly too heavily guarded to pass through, and to retrace his progress back the way he came, through the miserable lane of hopeless prisoners and vengeful murderers, weighed heavily on his mind.

Then another thought came to him, one that was too farfetched to be believable; _then again_, he thought, so _is my odd of escape off this rock_.

Dexter Jettster strolled back to the rock tunnel, and, remembering the dry, crunchy rocks littering the ground, scooped up a handful and stepped cautiously to the door. He emptied his load of porous rocks and lined them up roughly fifteen feet from the barricaded, wall-like door. He sighed — a grainy, load-barren sigh — and kicked them all, two at a time, towards the door.

The door's laser field grew from intense blue to blood red, perhaps in murderous reference to himself. Guards started pounding on the door, and security cameras swiveled in his direction. Laser guns protruded from the sleek walls and started blindly firing roughly in his direction.

The impetuous alien didn't rethink what he had just done; he just ran. Maybe, if he had the time, he would against his nature feel compelled to reflect, but right now he certainly did not have the time.   
His heart skipped a beat as he saw a durasteel security door slowly lower towards the floor to block his path. He dove, and landed right past the piece of metal and landing on his chest on the rocky floor.

He sat up, and saw that his shirt was torn, and a bloody gash was staining the ripped fibers of his shredded jumpsuit. But he didn't let that stop him. In accordance to his plan, Dexter found the cell next to him empty, and he quickly scrambled into it as the blast door behind him opened.


	5. Chapter 4

****

Chapter 4

"There. That should do it."

Cradossk slipped the uni-tool back into his pocket and slammed the panel shut. IG- 62 came back to life instantly, his alert programming switching to full power. "_Where is the target_?" It demanded, rising to its feet on repulsorlifts and stomping around to meet Craddosk face-to-face. Its purple monitor lights mounted on its face dimmed and brightened as it ran programs in its cylinder-like head.

"Cool down, you piece of scrap metal," said Cradossk, ever short-tempered, returning the command just as equally forcefully. Turning his back on his partner, he strolled out of the makeshift hideout sitting on floor-level, and headed for the Prison base yet again.

"Where is Djas Phur?" It demanded again, this time grabbing the impetuous Trandoshan by the arm.

Craddosk whirled in his tracks; his scaly face and razor teeth dangerously close to the robot's head. "Don't… _ever_… touch me," he warned through bared teeth.

IG- 62 tightened its grip. "_Where is Djas Phur_?"

Craddosk made an impersonation of a scowl and shook his arm free from the steely grip. "I don't know," he said finally. "Dead, hopefully. He disappeared when I saved you from complete obliteration."

IG- 62, despite being a robot, managed to look as if it had a dumb expression on its face. Craddosk betted it would have muttered in a confused tone "oh…" if it would have had the programming.

"Let's go." Craddosk barked. "And try not to get blown up."

The two bounty hunters Jango Fett and Zam Wesell came out of the elevator, guns in hand, and boldly strolled down the wide jail floor. Jango stooped as they came farther down the passage, pressing his pistols to his chest.

Zam stood behind him a moment and watched curiously before ducking low and following. "How many security systems are on this floor?" She asked suspiciously.

Jango cocked his head a moment, still crawling. "Ten, nine of which are merely digi-cameras."

"And the other?" She asked through grunts.

Jango answered quickly: "Heat sensors."

Suddenly, an alarm was tripped. "Heat sensor?" She repeated with a hint of irony. "Perfect."

Jango stood and whirled in place, coming around to meet at least two dozen human and alien guards, two of which were immediately airborne from the force of his guns. Pistols sending countless bolts aflame, he leaned closer to Zam, and shouted to her over the din of the incredible standoff.

"Someone else is here." He called out to her.

"Dumb nerf droppings!" She yelled back. "Dozens of heavily armed idiotic guards come to mind!"

Jango was unshaken by her sarcasm. "Not the guards. Another bounty hunter."

"How can you tell?" Zam barked accusingly.

"I'm picking up a heart measure of only ten heartbeats a minute. Unknown and near extinct species aren't employed in the tunnels of spice mines." Ten more guards left and Fett continued his explanation. "Cradossk has double hearts; his heart reading exceeds this one by five hundred times; IG- 62 has no heart."

Two more guards left, and one shot from Jango pierced them both at one time as they crossed to switch positions.

"Point made." Zam said admiringly. "But who is it?"

Roasting heat suddenly seared through the passageway, and the lights flickered off. Jango shrugged at Zam apologetically. "Grenadier droid," he explained.

Zam managed to keep her smirk hidden, looking away. Jango was robotic… but not inhuman.

Once again, Jango overshadowed her with his superhuman aim. Once he nailed three with one shot, Zam almost gave up in frustration. How was he so skilled? She did not know where his training derived from, suspecting it of the Mandalorian race but ultimately discarding that thought with common sense. After all, Mandalorians were a myth… or so she thought.

"Nice shooting…" She muttered sourly, holstering her blaster. He had unconsciously beaten her again, and she vowed casual justice.

He started walking again, but stopped mid-step. "He's advancing," Jango muttered under his breath to her.

Zam replied fearlessly. "Where?" She asked quietly.

Jango was silent, lifting his blaster close to his face. "The ceiling."

Their heads scanned above them carefully. "He's blending in. He skillfully cut the power lines during our little firefight."

"Meddling nerf herder…" she muttered. There were completely no lights activated at all now. She couldn't even see her own hands held out in front of her now.

"Jump!" barked Jango, leaping to the side.

"What the hell…" The young changeling puzzled in confusion for a moment, but only a moment, as balled fists slammed into her head.

Spots formed around her peripheral vision, and she swayed in and out of consciousness. Shaking her head, her vision cleared for a brief moment: enough time for her to see a large form leaping towards her…

And then she fell unconscious completely.

He saw the form smash his partner hard… hard enough to kill a person. Jango knew it had been Djas Phur; he had known since he had sensed the creepy alien crawling spider-like towards them on the ceiling, defying gravity easily.

__

I should have told her, he contemplated. _It would have been easier_.

But he knew he couldn't. He simply couldn't do that.

__

For Boba…

The bald headed creature had turned, and was coming after him. _No, you don't_, he thought. _Not now_.

The Mandalorian orphan didn't holster the guns; he didn't even drop them. With his temper flaring, Jango punched the opponent – hard, steady, and fierce – drawing red blood from the humanoid mouth.

__

Red blood, he thought sourly, _but a green opponent,_ and another fist smashed the coward to the ground.

Phur didn't even stand a chance. He was down, bleeding, and practically begging for his life. Jango could take his opponent's life in a second; and he knew it. Like a small bug under his boot, he was certain.

__

I wouldn't do that, he thought practically. He was not a murderer, but a business dealer. He would spare the creature.

Jango brought the butt of his gun down on the back of the humanoid's head, knocking him senseless. He would spare the creature for certain: of life, but certainly not pain.

He now retracted the Westar-34's, and walked to his partner, stepping over the person he had just struck unconscious.

"Zam," he whispered. Bending down, he picked her up gingerly. The battle helmet had fallen off her head and stray hairs of orange color fell across her forehead. He brushed them away gently.

He felt no attraction to his partner, but he knew he didn't want her harmed. She was pretty, he now noticed; a small face and nose, orange bangs hanging on her face. He couldn't help but wonder what made her so angry at the world, what scar had been burned on her soul so deeply that made her thirst revenge on the galaxy.

And he knew, somewhere in his heart, that he cared for her.

Tears would have welled up in an ordinary man's eyes; but he was not an ordinary man. He scowled furiously at the motionless man on the floor, his organic eyes shadowing the fearsome image of the T-shaped visor in his battle helmet. He was tempted to kill Djas now, to end this man's string of murdering and violence, to end his destruction. Jango strode over to the man, the injured female Changeling still in his strong arms. He shifted her to one arm, and drew his blaster carefully. He pointed the pistol straight Djas' forehead, his finger tightening on the trigger tensely.

But he couldn't, even though he wanted to. He couldn't for a logical reason, which was fair enough.

No, he didn't kill him, but he did leave with a warning kick to the man's ribs, enough to bruise them sufficiently.

He shifted Zam back into his arms, and walked away.

More lights flashed as he walked down the room between the prisons, telling Jango he should walk quicker. His gloved hand tapped on the controls in front of him, and a tiny beeping was followed by the motorized door in front of him sliding opening quickly.

Hastily, he rushed into the shadows beyond the door, staying close to wall before laying Zam gently on the floor. Roughly, he shook her awake.

Zam sat up groggily, rubbing her aching forehead as she did so. "Jango... where are we?" She whispered to him.

"Manufacturing complex," he replied. "Can't you tell?"

Warily, Zam tilted her head to one side, listening closely. Far off she could hear the whir of machinery.

Jango walked down another dim hall, turning right where the hall came to a dead end. His arms swung stiffly at his sides as his brisk pace quickened. Within seconds Zam found herself sprinting to catch up with him.

__

What could possible be his hurry? thought Zam bitterly. _After all, he took care of all of the guar—_

Blaster fire whizzed over her head, and she reflexively picked up the speed. A large door routed her path; a door set on hinges and quite out of the ordinary. Her path and speed were too great to be stopped and she crashed painfully into the door, bruising her shoulder and upsetting her jaw.

Jango reflexes saved him some pain, and he smashed the door open with his armored shoulder, sending splinters bouncing off his reflective helmet.

Zam stumbled rather ungraciously into the machinery littered room, ducking and swerving around blaster fire in a much more gracious way. Jango took cover behind the wall next to the doorway, sticking his arm and blaster out to blow away two guards.

Seeing the room in complete ruins had caught Zam off guard. Broken distribution towers towards the back of the warehouse-like room overshadowed all other broken objects, literally casting eerie shadows.

Jango's forearm was clipped by blaster fire, sending remote sparks spraying into the air. Jango grunted in pain, and Zam whirled to find Jango clutching his forearm in pain. Zam mentally beat herself for leaving Jango to ward off the attackers. Sensibly, she grabbed a large piece of durasteel. Rushing over to Jango's side, she placed the durasteel sheet over the splintered fragments of the wooden door. Jango keenly realized her plan. Raising his wounded forearm weakly, he minutely activated his wrist-mounted flame-thrower, heat welding the sheet to the door frame. Instantly bumps rose on the sheet.

Jango rose to his feet quite quickly, and his flame-thrower clicked into it safeguard mode, and he drew the blasters from their holsters.

Nodding down a path between the debris, he took the lead.


	6. Chapter 5

****

Chapter 5

"Perhaps this wasn't such a great idea," Craddosk muttered to himself.

The reptilian and his partner literally stood atop the prison base. Around them rained blaster fire; they had gotten used to it after awhile. There wasn't any easy way for the cheaply built guards to hit them at such a distance, and both bounty hunters could see the blaster bolts coming from a literal mile away.

Right now the metal part of the team was bent over the rooftop, it's mini torch steadily cutting a small hole in the durasteel. IG-62 nonchalantly bent its neck to one side, saving its artificial head from destruction.

"_If there were other ways in I would have taken them_," replied IG-62 mechanically.

"Yeah, well..." Craddosk dodged a blaster bolt and landed hard on his shoulder. "Can't you go _any_ _faster?_"

IG-62 –logically – ignored his partner, which sent warm streaks through the reptile's body.

"Why you son of a..." Craddosk muttered under his breath. He glared down at the pitiful attackers below. They had started scaling robots up the side of the building. _These can't stay_, he thought ruthlessly.

Nonchalantly he drew his blaster, aiming with incredible hand-eye co-ordination and blowing the guards off the side of the building.

"Well," he said amazed. "That was easy."

His demeanor was broken just as easily in the form of a magnetic grappling hook. It latched itself onto the barrel of Craddosk's gun, and the Trandoshan met the full 200-lbs. head on.

Craddosk, entirely caught off guard, lost his footing on the slippery rooftop. His body made full contact, and he started quickly sliding towards the edge.

Craddosk felt his movement generate enough friction to mildly burn his scales. Furiously, he realized that the grappling hook had wrapped the gun to his right wrist. Hurriedly, still sliding, he brought his left hand up and tried to unwind the cord.

Alarmingly, he realized that the edge was only a few meters away. Thinking quickly, he bent his wrist towards his face.

Three more seconds and he would see if his meager plan would succeed.

The cord quickly shrank over the edge in front of him, and as Craddosk's bound wrist hit the sharp edge the binding material frayed thin and snapped. As a result, a deep gash ran up Craddosk's forearm. Scales and rough skin were left on the edge.

The remaining robots came leaping up on to the roof; some behind Craddosk and some on his sides. Craddosk gripped his right arm tightly with his left, and bared his teeth; they wouldn't take him while he was still breathing.

The Trandoshan reached towards his boot, and pulled out a mini-vibro blade. Flicking the weapon on, he spat upon his wounded arm and rushed forward, plunging the knife deep into his enemy's neck; the robot collapsed silently.

He spun 180º and realized two more opponent's fall in a single swing of the blade. Far to his right a robot unleashed heavy blaster fire; Craddosk ducked under the line of fire and kicked out with his leg. The robot lost it's footing and went tumbling over the edge.

Meanwhile, IG-62 had stuck to his task and succeeded in cutting a hole in the thick ceiling. Craddosk did some quick calculations in his mind, and realized that the circle was 5 feet across, and nearly the same number in depth.

Perhaps he shouldn't doubt IG-62 as much.

Craddosk grabbed the edge with a hand, and swung down. He hung there a moment until he knew he was safe, then dropped down.

He must have been lucky that day; his anatomy cushioned the 10-foot fall.

Djas had a headache. Not brain damage, or a concussion, just a really, really bad headache.

Or, he at least _hoped_ he only had a headache. Having the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy make you over was not a pleasant experience.

Djas Phur thought all this to himself as he walked down a narrow passage. He wasn't quite sure which passage that was—they all looked the same—but his main goal was to steer clear of the majority of guards.

The passageway was dark, they all were dark, and he heard a faint thumping above his head; like some great and ancient rancor, thumping his tambour in a ritual state.

Trying not to move his bruised ribs, he slowly stopped and gazed at the signs on a wall, which read:

Detention Center – west

****

Manufacturing Complex – east

****

Prison camps – south

Unfortunately, the last line was smeared with a thick substance, the origins of which Djas Phur had no anticipation of guessing.

He debated which way to go; each looked equally depressing, but he counted on doing anything to stay away from that walking tank from hell.

Whimsically he decided on the detention center; after all, besides getting beaten and cast aside like a first rate rookie, he still had a mission to accomplish, right?

"Right," Djas decidedly said aloud. "The bounty will be mine... and no one else's..."

He turned left and started walking down the westbound hallway. "No one else's!" He shouted aloud, raising one hand into the air.

Jango Fett wound his ways through the debris, silent, and not saying a thing. Mutely he shoved aside a large, scrapped hyperdrive motivator.

Zam, however, was less calm.

"Lazy idiots!" She screamed in frustration when a large, rusty pipe fell on her foot. "I thought this was a manufacturing complex, not a scrapyard..."

"This section is devoted to unused parts, and those waiting to be melted down."

"Well, it could still use some cleaning up..."

Indeed. The whole room—in all it's gigantic glory—was a rust-red color, and the two bounty hunters walked down a narrow path between a wall of scrap on each side. Debris littered the floor's path, and they climbed over it.

Then, as if it had never existed, the scrap stopped, and the cleaner manufacturing towers, belts, and products started. Noise filled Zam's ears, and she groaned audibly; there were times she felt a Mandalorian battle helmet came quite in handy.

Unlike the crimson area behind them, the towers were placed in a zigzag pattern with belts effectively blocking everything between.

Zam, behind Jango, now walked up to stand at his side. Annoyed and stumped, she looked to him for clues.

Jango stood straight; his arms hung loose at his sides; his spine was straightened. But Zam could tell he was thinking, for his head was slightly tilted at an odd angle, and his hands were clenched into fists. Suddenly, he lost posture and started walking onto the field of conveyor belts.

"Have a plan, Jango?" She called after him, beginning to follow.

"No," Jango said flatly; and he didn't stop walking.

Zam could only sigh and follow.

Jango Fett came upon the first belt, and since it was moving quite slowly, jumped on. Zam followed.

Jango waited until the belt carried him farther down, then jumped onto another cutting sheets of durasteel in half. This belt was a bit more dangerous, because flying sparks could easily put out an eye.

Of course, Jango didn't have to worry about this problem with his gear; Zam, however, did.

This belt was farther away from the next this time; the belt ahead of Jango also carried barrels of flammable spice; one miscalculation on the part of the machine and the two would be smoking nerf.

Not as if Jango appeared to care though, necessarily; and if he did, his actions betrayed his mindset. He jumped into the dangerous line like a fat tourist getting into line at one of Coruscant's prestigious bars—eagerly, almost needingly, and without guilt or second thoughts.

_It's not over till the fat man sings_, Zam thought with an ugly smirk, jumping between two barrels. _In fact, he could sing prestigious opera all he wants while I get out of this gigantic trap._

The next belt, as if in a humorous child's cartoon in which the characters on purpose faced greater and more ridiculous challenges as they progressed, was an oil/hyperdrive-slick product line.

Zam actually felt better about this line, because she had no weapons that could catch fire to the items; she feared a little, though, because Jango was a walking arsenal of weapons of which included many fire-based items.

Jango leaped across the wider opening, landing neatly between two barrels. Instantly, he relaxed; that proved to be a foolish move.

The flawless Jango Fett slackened his arms, letting his left arm fall down and strike the metal barrel--igniting his wrist-mounted flame-thrower.

Red-hot flames leapt out, suddenly heating the conductive metal to burning proportions. The flammable oil's surface set on fire, casting everything nearby into violent hues of red and orange.

Jango leapt into the air, spinning as he did, and disappeared from sight beneath the belts.

Zam was struck dumb. Her limbs seemed frozen to the still-moving belt, and she gaped in confusion. What were her choices? What choices could she make in 10 seconds, before the oil set off a chain reaction and blew up everything in its path?

She focused upon the belt beneath her feet instead. It was moving to her left, opposite of the burning barrel. She decided to follow her belt's path as far as she could.

She turned on her heel to rub, but realized with horror a solemn fact; the spice canisters completely blocked her path of escape.

She stepped instead off the belts, following Jango to whatever path he took, whether it be death, despair, or simply the path of the bounty hunter.

Dexter Jettster found an exit.

Countless hours of vain searching seemed to have finally paid off, for Dexter found himself standing—closely and in shadows—outside of a door.

He contemplated his choices, and the outcome of each. In some sense this door was symbolic, for it held two choices. One, he could go through this door, and be free; for this was an external exit, and the chances of his being able to stowaway on a prison transport were very high.

Or two, he could leave this door be, for he didn't know what was exactly on the opposite side, and his freedom might disintegrate into the complete opposite; he would sacrifice his ever escaping this barren rock.

On one hand freedom, the other... disparity.

He pushed the door open.

Instantly, although it was dark outside, a thin crack of filtered light spilled in through the doorway. He pushed with all his strength against the doorway, and it started to move, slowly but surely. The empty, miserable hallway behind him shrieked with the echo of grinding metal, but the tearing noise only encouraged him to push harder.

Now the door was open enough to let him slide through. Dexter breathed a sigh of relief as his last limb squeezed through the opening. Excitement overtook him; he was as good as free! He looked to the sky, and he saw that rain was beginning to fall steadily down over him; this did nothing to discourage his spirits, however, and he showed it through dancing a brief dance of his homeworld.

Thank the gods he was free! But where to go from here? Dexter Jettster was quite ignorant on the subject of prisoner transportation, for good reasons I might add, but his innocence was a flaw today.

Without sufficient knowledge of the freighter times, he could be out here for weeks, maybe months; and all that time he would have to dodge and hide from the impending guards.

He sat down, mud and all, on the ground, and rubbed his chubby alien chin thoughtfully.

Then gained his key idea.

He now knew that his escape of this rock would not be executed by a public transport; no, not at all.

He would hitch a ride with some bounty hunters.

"Well, how about this?"

Craddosk reached over and plucked a red flower from its gray, box-like vase. The hole IG-62 had carved in the roof seemed to lead directly into a narrow hallway of the greenhouse level. Because of the deficient amount of air in Kessell's atmosphere, green life was often grown to produce oxygen in prison caves where fresh air didn't travel for weeks.

Craddosk twirled the flower in his hand. "Maybe this is the key to our problems..."

"_Elaborate_."

"This section supplies oxygen to the region of this Prison Base, correct?

IG-62 stood motionless a moment, then spoke. "_Scanners indicate that the greenhouse level supplies 99.86% of the oxygen intake within a 10-mile radius_."

"Bingo. So now all we have to do is get rid of all this prissy green life."

"_Incorrect evaluation_," replied IG-62. "_By destroying this pivotal floor you increase your odds of dying by 4/5_."

"Never tell me the odds," growled Craddosk under his breath, pulling the safety pin off a .66 thermal detonator. "Now help me place these charges or go to the scrapyard."

"_I don't rely on your support or weapons. I am fluent in combat technical and at the moment, likewise, I do not rely on your support in that area either_."

"You go with me or you die."

"_Why?_"

"Because to survive in these conditions you need to understand humans' maniacal minds, and their brutality, or be tricked by them." Craddosk said, scowling.

A moment of silence, as the two bounty hunters stared each other down, both sharing the momentary effect of being mechanical, and standing stiff as a sheet of durasteel.

"_For the moment I shall go with you_."

"Good choice," he replied, his face still crunched into a scowl. With his left arm he reached over, and placed a charge on the wall.

IG-62 did the same.

Craddosk turned his back on the assassin, and plodded down the hallway. One by one he released more charges from his ammo belt, placing them at roughly measured distances from each other. The greenhouse level formed a gradual circle around the outskirts of the tower mounted on the prison base. Eventually, the bounty hunters met up again after traveling the whole circle.

The charges were remote controlled, and IG-62's initial plan was to make a safe distance outside before blowing the level to pieces. Craddosk also hoped that the level crashing would take down a few beneath it.

The circular tube had a single exit, a hallway leading off onto an interior hallway, which led to catwalks branching web-like across a red, crater-like expanse. Craddosk leaned over the railing and peered down. Below him was a sea of scrap pieces, and rising above the metal waves were tall towers of mighty proportions. A few were shorter than others, but the tallest fell short a mere 10 feet below the lowest catwalks.

Craddosk, feeling dizzy, took a step back away from the edge. "We don't want to be down there when the charges are activated," he said silently to IG-62.

"_Quite the contrary_," it said confidently, and Craddosk knew better than to argue. He frowned, but not because he doubted IG-62; but because the droid was, after all, a droid, and most of the time its calculations were spot-on.

"That's a stupid accent," he said, and swung a leg over the railing. He pulled an electro-grappling hook from his combat belt, and aimed the tiny launcher towards the centermost point on the area's ceiling that he could find. Once he felt the energy cable tighten, he magnetically secured the handle to his wrist-gauntlet, gripped his fists together, and jumped off.

This was nothing new; the Trandoshan had done this type of thing many times before, yet he couldn't help but feel a wave of excitement rush from inside him. Something about the theory of "flying" set him off; he loved the danger, he loved the winds, and most of all loved the freedom of movement.

He swung his legs out in front of him as he swung to the middle, trying to avoid getting his line caught on a catwalk, but his aversions could only last so long. Suddenly, a bridge formed a menacing right angle against his path.

Craddosk cussed loudly, and tried to swing left; nothing. He tried bending the line towards him, but only got a few feet of cable to angle.

He kept his arms loose as the cable made contact with the parallel bridge. Almost easily the line bent over the catwalk. Then he felt the cable tighten, and his whole body snapped forward. His shoulders let out a distressing pop, and his spine stretched too far, even for his alien proportions.

Then the cable slackened, and his movement reversed. Unluckily, the reverse movement wasn't a clean path, and he careened into one of the manufacturing towers' peaks. His shoulder took most of the blow, albeit lucky that it was covered in scales and layered with muscle, but the pain was still intense.

As Craddosk lay suspended in mid-air by his wrist, he wished the pain was merely surface-level. It seemed to snake up the depth of his arm, and felt very cold, like a frigid ice pick jammed into the cartilage of his shoulder.

Barely conscious, Craddosk reached up with his loose arm, and hit the release button on the grappling hook. He plummeted down immediately, his wounded shoulder clutched to his chest as he fell.

He landed in a fairly soft pile of scrap composed of discarded oil crags. Small pieces of glass were thrown into the air when he landed; nearby, a durasteel pile was set into a landslide.

His head rang and his forearm burned. Luckily, his shoulder was numb, so he for the moment he felt no pain. Surface level he was grateful, although consciously he knew that the numb quality was something to worry about.

Rising, he stumbled down the pile. His head spun, and he reached one hand out arm-length to make sure he didn't run into anything. However, he soon collapsed from exhaustion.

IG-62 had been observing this all from a distance. If programming had allowed, it would have most likely shaken its head in sympathy. With divine calculations, IG-62 had evaluated Craddosk's movements and seen the flaws; following programming, he wouldn't make the same mistakes.

Likewise, it launched the magnetic end of the grappling hook near to the middle of the ceiling; however, instead of swinging in the direction of the cable, the droid jumped side, avoiding the perilous walkway completely.

The location was offset just enough that it completely bypassed any walkways or towers; however, it was precisely affixed so that when IG-62 stopped swinging, he was directly above a shorter, flat-topped pillar, to which he easily leaped down with little effort from his robotic muscles. Likewise, the jump completely down to the junk pile far below was effortless.

Quickly, it ran a bio-scan for life readings of its partner. Results came up; he was a few meters to the left. More directly, it stumbled to the lizard-like creature.

Craddosk glanced up at his partner from one eye, but nausea overcame him and he retched blood. He wiped his mouth with a forearm. "_Gah_... what do you think..._gah_... we should do now?"

IG-63 pointed the barrel of his gun down a clear path between the pillars. Darkened by the shadows of criss-crossing conveyor belts, it was an incomprehensible soup; and, on the side, looked quite menacing as well.

Craddosk peered closer into the sheltering and tried to pick out something visible; nothing. He was turning away when a blaster bolt's lightning-bright flash made the action spastic. Bringing one arm up to shield his eyes, he twisted away from the near glare and flattened himself on the floor.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Three shots echoed through the darkness. Several more followed; clearly, a firefight was commencing, and he was being left out of the fun.

The Trandoshan drew his sawed-off rifle from its rife and spun the barrel playfully. Eagerly, he commanded: "Let's go." His movement into the darkness would have gone smoothly had a robotic claw not wrenched his arm, and therefore himself, in the opposite direction, making the proud lizard-creature stumble a bit.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He barked into his partner's photoreceptive monitoring eye.

IG-62 sent forth a string of calculations to his partner. "Readings show a 99.74%/99.77% chance of survival if we refrain from immediate combat."

Craddosk did some quick mental calculations. "And the .23% chance of death is because of...?"

"_Stray blaster fire_," returned the droid.

"So what you're saying," growled Craddosk, his voice raising, "is that we should stay out of bounds, cower in fear, and, as a _result of these actions_, lose our bounty?"

"_I_..."

"Is that what you're saying?!"

"_It would be wisest_," offered the assassin, in a tone that suggested he might shrug if he could.

Craddosk growled, and turned his back on the droid. With a quick and fluid series of motions, he armed his blaster, revolved it around to his partner's chest, and set forth a string of sloppy fire. The wild bolts blew completely through the droid, knocking it to the ground with a series of small explosions.

Craddosk stood over the smoking and still flaming piece of metal. Struggling with a cocky quip, he finally issued forth the soonest thing that came to his mind.

"Beat... that!" He said, nearly smiling in devious triumph, before spitting on the droid and continuing into the inky darkness.


	7. Chapter 6

****

Chapter 6

Jango fired off another blast.

He reflected on how they had gotten into this position (a standoff between Djas, himself and Zam) for future reference, and for use in similar situations that undoubtedly would arise in his career. He knew, from the moment he had fallen down between the rows of production belts, that something was wrong. It was a feeling along the back of his armored spine that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Not from fear, but from superior apprehension, slight understanding of his situation. However, he it was not his own position that he should have been aware of; it was his opponent's, and his partner's.

His opponent had taken up a position behind a scrap crate, which had broken open (undoubtedly from its fall from above) and spilled its solid contents across the already dirty floor. His location put him in a position that allowed fire to rain across the majority of the lower level. Jango still remembered the first blaster bolt that had flown across the room, and his surprise at it's path spinning not towards him, but towards Zam. He still remembered his jumping to his left, into the path of the bolt. And he still remembered his even greater surprise as Zam had, instead of taking cover behind his airborne body, pushing it further along its path, till he was yet again clear of blaster fire. He had landed behind one base of a pillar, dazed but relatively unhurt.

He remembered the blaster bolt flying not even 5 feet from his face, spiraling into his changeling partner's right shoulder. And how the body part had absorbed the blow, rocketing the woman back and into shadows, illuminated only by similar blaster bolts flying over her motionless body, crashing into the far wall.

Jango fired the second.

Djas loosed a hum of firepower.

Jango fired the next round,

And here they found themselves.

Realizing their exchange was getting nowhere quickly, Jango unclipped a confined thermal detonator from his belt. It sailed with little effort over the barrier-like crate. As soon as it went in, Djas Phur came out.

As soon as that bald, shiny head came into range, it connected with the sole of Jango's boot. The black creature's face screwed up in a grimace of pain as his skull was pushed down into his shoulder blades. The man landed on his chest, his face at the tip of Jango's left foot; likewise, the two met in close, yet very unaffectionate, quarters.

Djas was lifted into the air, flailing him arms wildly in an attempt to ward off his attacker. The motions did no good, however, because once the man returned to solid ground he found a gloved fist in his face.

Then he collapsed to the ground: with just a little help.

Jango rushed back to where Zam was lying. Gently, he picked up the warrior, cradling her head in his hand.

She stirred, and her eyes opened; surprisingly, in them was not fear, nor pain, but easy calm. She tried to speak, but her words became muddled as she coughed up blood.

Jango said nothing, but gently wiped away a trickle of blood running down the side of her mouth, letting one finger stop over her mouth in a means to silence her.

But Zam was persistent and, pushing away Jango's finger in protest, spluttered up a few words.

"This isn't... the," she started quietly, taking a breath. "...End. It can't be... and it never will till you retrieve what we came here for. The bounty, Jango. Do your job."

Jango nodded a silent "no" with his head. "I'm staying here, Zam. Or I'll get you to safety. It—"

"No!" She screamed, her eyes widening, her hands clawing at Jango's sleeves, drawing her face close to his. "Do your job! Hunt the merchandise!"

Jango was caught off guard by the movement. He contemplated denying the command, but thought against it; Zam, severely hurt, was probably in a state of shock, and any actions as to discourage her further would surely damage her.

"Zam," his raspy voice echoed from the helmet, "you won't last more than a few hours in my absence."

Zam laughed weakly. "That's... more than enough time for the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy to finish the hunt."

She allowed no protests.

He decided to go with his partner's blunt plan of action.

"Heh... kinn'a like dejá vu, eh Jango?" She said with a smirk, then fell limp in his arms.

Jango's fingers found her pulse: still strong.

He instantly whirled on Djas; but in looking at where the man had lain only 30 seconds ago he found only an empty spot, laced with trickles of oil and blood, but absence of his presence.

He quivered with a touch of silent fury, and rushed from Zam's side, leaving the girl in a calm demeanor, a state of naive bliss.

Jango strode from the room and into a compact area of sorts. Lit in vibrant hues of red and orange and reflected off of rusted metal pipes, it turned almost warm colors into a harsh environment, enhancing the sharp edge of exposed pipes in the ceiling and walls.

The dazzling light tricks prompted him to stop a moment and regard which way to turn. He was near certain of which direction to take, and a footstep on his way, when large, scaly claws grabbed him from behind around his neck.

Jango gargled, and immediately reached for his throat, tearing at the restraints. Jango bent forward at the waist, throwing his attacker's weight onto his back; but no matter how much Fett tried to flip the aggressor over his head and off his back, the choking continued relentlessly.

"Jango Fett..." he heard a hoarse voice whisper in his helmet's audio input.

"What do you want, Craddosk?" Jango inquired sharply, none of the pain from his crushing throat showing through in his words.

Craddosk increased his grip. "You know _exactly_ what I want."

Jango shook his head left and right slowly. "Nothing doing. I need that income."

Craddosk let out an amused snort. "For what? Everyone knows you're the wealthiest hunter in the Galaxy."

Jango let a choking gasp. "I need the money for that new luxury hot rod speeder."

Craddosk let out a roar of laughter. "Oh, that's priceless! I didn't know you had such a strong sense of humor!"

Inside the helmet, Jango's eyes narrowed. "Who said I was joking?" He barked.

Craddosk stopped laughing.

Jango took the aversion of Craddosk's focus to the extreme. Quickly, the Mandalorian warrior looped one foot around the lizard creature's ankle, bringing his snout down on the shoulder plate of Jango's armor. A resonating "Crack!" echoed throughout the room, followed by the thump of Craddosk crashing to the floor.

Jango spun on his heel and collapsed his entwined fists upon his enemy's back. The otherwise crushing hit merely bounced off of the scaly back, and Craddosk retaliated with a diagonal swipe from his huge, clawed hand. The blow opened three deep, nasty scratches along the breastplate of the Mandalorian armor. Jango stumbled back from the blow, pressing one hand against his belly. Craddosk roared in anger, and leapt upon Jango's shoulders, falling blows upon his shoulders and helmet. Jango slid, and stopped fighting back.

But Craddosk did not.

Again and again the crushing fits smashed against Jango, breaking the visor in his helmet, tearing pieces of the chest armor apart, and leaving various dents in a large and random pattern across the length of his body.

Jango did not move again.

As soon as Craddosk saw his opponent defeated and lifeless beneath him, he shored up the beating. He rose, standing above his opponent in an infinitely superior pose. His from cast a menacing, jagged shadow across Jango. He snarled in an animal-like mimic of laughter, and prepared to dive in and devour his kill.

His gruesome thoughts would have become a reality had it not been for Craddosk's shadow erasing—suddenly—from the wall, its owner along with it.

Craddosk crashed headfirst into a wall drenched in dry shadows. His head spun as he did so as well, coming about-face to see only Zam standing where he had stood, a heavy, rusted pipe clutched in her left hand.

"You'll have to do better than that!" Roared Craddosk, drawing a blaster from his belt. He maniacally laughed as he pulled the trigger, but the wild blaster fire didn't even come close to hitting the young woman. She easily sidestepped anything that came even close to searing her skin.

Craddosk emerged from the shadows, discarding the over-heated weapon as he did so. With snake-like agility, he was upon Zam, and, in a motion too fast to track snatched away the makeshift weapon.

Raising the bar as if it were a hammer, he prepared to bring it down on the wounded hunter's head.

A foot lashed out of the shadows.

It contacted with Craddosk's leg.

Craddosk crashed to the floor.

At that moment, Zam collapsed, falling upon Jango's chest gently.

The hunter sat up, laying his partner gently on the floor. Removed of the weight, he glanced over his wounds with a fighter's eye. An offset white object lodged in his armor caught his attention. Curious, he yanked it out with his thumb and forefinger.

It was Craddosk's tooth.

Jango unfastened one of the leather pockets on his belt, and slipped it inside. Perhaps it might serve its further purpose as a trophy.

Jango feet pounded steadily on the cold grating beneath him. Like a heartbeat at work, it rose faster, and faster, until it was a barely distinguishable beat. The thumping fell to a steady "crunch crunch" as his boots fell to hitting the sand and rocks outside the complex.

If Jango had looked up at that moment he would have seen a brilliant navy dark sky dotted and striped with stars and nebulas. He would have seen the reflection of a million asteroids like small moons, and the travel of prison transports to neighboring inhabited complexes, burning brightly as they traversed through the thick atmospheres.

But he kept his head down; and perhaps for the better, because if he had not he would not have seen the 12 droids lined up in front of him, weapons drawn, and waiting to kill something.

Jango had drawn and fired twice before they even got a bead on him. The foremost robot was taken out first, and one on its left flank as well; the others opened heavy fire immediately with reapeating blasters, though all firepower traced a path under the feet of Jango's agile somersault.

It was a myth that the armor somehow slowed him down or restricted him of movement. This was now proved in a rhythm of power and speed unequaled by any of his race or stature. With his right hand Jango launched a hook to a robots torso. With the left he let go of a string of firepower, blowing to and through three of them on the left flank. The same left hand came back and grabbed the top of the stumbling robots head, which was then twisted completely backwards and popped off with ease.

In the time it took the decapitated robot to fall, Jango was already in the aiming reticules of 4 more. Dropping stealthily, the hunter performed a complete 360 counter-clockwise swipe with his leg, at 2, 5, 7, and 11 o'clock knocking each robot off its footing and to the ground. Jango popped the clip to a grenade, dropped it between his legs, and leapt forwards, rolling along the ground a good distance to put himself away from the implosive weapon.

The weapon detonated and the floored robots' circuitry was fried to a smoking crisp, with various pieces of their armor spiraling away and lodging themselves in the ground, fellow troops, and various rocks nearby. There was a neat three left after the explosion—on extra destroyed from debris of the explosion—and they were disposed of fairly quick. Jango had brought his gun up to meet its targets, and pulled the trigger, when the firearm inconveniently sputtered and died. Tossing it away without second thought, Jango reached for his second gun. Startled for only a second, he saw it was not in its holster, but in the hands of his enemy; who had grabbed the gun when it had been lost as Jango had rolled to safety.

Jango set his feet shoulder-length apart and squeezed his right hand into an odd fist. From the wrist gauntlet sprung a jagged knife, dented and defiled from years of use. The deformed shape meant nothing to the hunter as of the moment, however, and he launched himself forearm first into the nearest droid. The shining blade sunk deep into its vital circuits, and hissing sounds could be heard as it melted from within. Jango pulled his arm into an arc resembling something of an uppercut, cutting the robot in half from the belly through its head. Pieces of molten metal flew into the air, and before they could hit the ground Jango had spiraled and cut the next droid from shoulder to groin. The guard landed on the ground in half, sparking and smoking.

The last Jango turned upon was a bit different. Instead of being near weaponless and thin-framed, this one seemed to be armored, and equipped with a rocket launcher on its "bicep." At that moment it fired.

Jango leapt into the air and activated his jetpack. At top speed he flew upwards for about 10 seconds, the slim rocket hitting his brilliantly hot exhaust and exploding almost while within the thin trail.

The heavily equipped droid set to re-arming its gun, and Jango flew towards it. Twisting his forearm, he activated the flame-thrower on his left gauntlet. He came down a few feet from the robot's face; flames blew from his forearm, and the guard's head melted in upon itself. It didn't explode, it didn't steam, it merely fell and was no more.

Jango had a moments time of rest, but only a moment, for at that moment he _did_ take the time to look up at the night sky.

And laid eyes upon a closer object than the distant prisoner transports. He laid eyes upon Djas Phur's ship, leaving at top speed.

**__**

20 minutes ago…

Phur ran aboard his ship via the small boarding ramp beneath the hull, and breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he had escaped from the maze that was that hell-hole of a prison complex after all. Perhaps he could leave behind that Jango Fett, his accomplices, and his enemies for ever.

Phur slid into the single pilot seat in the nose, hit a few buttons, and pushed a few levers. The view screen came alive along the peripheral vision with illuminated radars and rear monitors. The engines roared to life behind him, and he triggered the anit-grav repulsorlifts; his ship left the ground a few feet, cruising forward slightly.

__

More power… he thought frantically. _More power! The sooner I leave this planet the better..._

His hands danced across the pitch controls, and the ship jumped to life. Within seconds he was safely suspended a half-mile into the air.

Wiping some of the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, he spun in the chair to face away from the sweet sight of space in the view port. He queued a soft melody of music with touch to a pressure-sensitive panel and leaned back in the chair to relax.

He would have gone through with the plan, too, had his hunter reflexes not kicked in at that exact moment. He sensed the presence of another on board. Rising from his seat, he stealthily tracked the location. There, below and to the right of him, in the weapon storage shafts.

Djas triggered the hidden access lever with his foot, then kicked the floor-mounted door in. He grabbed at the darkness, and came up with Dexter Jettster's collar; he raised the plump alien in front of his face as if the creature weighed nothing at all, growling.

"Just what in the blazes do you think you're doing?" He growled, his grip tightening on the collar and into the soft flesh of the nape of Dexter's neck beneath it.

Dexter made a choking noise and his eyes rolled to the ceiling. His mauve-colored face turned an odd blue, and he began gasping and wheezing.

Not as if Djas Phur cared in the least, however; he felt no guilt upon killing in cold blood. Once the hunter put two and two together, however, and realized that this one he was and choking was the same in the hologram picture's he had seen, all that changed. Phur's eyes widened and he released the bounty, letting him fall back into the weapon storage shaft from whence he came.

Djas hit the emergency lock for all compartments and leapt back towards his seat. Bringing up his communications panel, he tapped a discrete coffee shop in the underworld of Courascant; and, more directly, the man who had put out the bounty for Dexter's head, Flar Y'yas.

A moment of crackling static filled the cockpit, but it was abruptly followed by the visage of Flar's bust.

Considering the life-and-death circumstances Djas, the other bounty hunters, the bounty himself, and all others concerned had faced this past day, one would have expected Mr. Y'yas to be in a discreetly brooding, solemn mood; but he was instead in a disturbingly humorous mood. His cackling laughter roared through the room, and behind him was heard the clanking of mugs and high pitch of others laughing ever louder as Djas listened.

"Djas, my boy!" He said merrily, lifting his glass in a playful toast and emptying it before continuing. "How goes the hunt?"

Djas cast a sideways glance to the weapons compartment. "It goes quite well, Mr. Y'yas," he said smugly. "He is yours when you want him."

Y'yas's brow almost furrowed. "And your former boss?"

Djas crossed his arms over his chest. "He is no longer a concern to me."

Y'yas looked pleased. "Very well, then. Bring him in as soon as possible. You can find the drop point at—"

Y'yas was cut off abruptly, and his image disappeared, when the floor turned red beneath Djas' feet.

**__**

Now

Slave I was an inanimate object, but for all its lifelessness the character of it was stunning. Jango's personal ship had taken on set after set of burn marks, potshots, and other assemblies that left its hull almost as much as if not more scarred than its owner.

It's beaten composure lied about its speed and agility, which was now proved as it flew to space as if moth to flame, and its unwitting fib more often than not played Jango's competition for a fool. One shame was, both of their reputation informed most of those running from the hunters, so most knew to know the ship's abilities.

Jango's mind was clouded with rage as he pursued Djas through the dusky sky. Morning light was breaking through the navy sky, casting soft orange and pink rays across select rocks. Most of the ground still lay in shadow, a benefit to both hunters; no other prison compounds were awake yet, no others were aware of the scourge that had befell this one compound, and the hunters didn't have to worry about reinforcements from the other side.

Jango's thumb flipped open a safeguard flap from the proton torpedo release switch, and his thumb hovered over the button.

Then something happened. Something very curious happened. By itself, the ship lurched forward, and spun wildly out of control. Jango tilted his head inquiringly, baffled as to the cause.

Then, it all ended.

Jango's onboard comlink beeped demandingly, and the hunter accepted the incoming transmission; Djas digitized face appeared.

"Jango Fett…" Djas said in words drenched with malice and frustration as the camera swiveled outward to reveal an image of Djas holding Jettster by the collar, and gun pointed at the burly alien's head. "As you can see," Djas growled, "I have the prime target here, _right here_, in my custody."

Djas paused, waiting for Jango's reaction; he got nothing, so continued.

"I also believe that the bounty on the prime target is worth a very large sum; a very, very large sum you very much want. Isn't that right?"

Jango inclined his head.

"Good. At this point you have two choices: you can squeeze the trigger, blow my ship to pieces, and kill us both, avenging your lover…"

Jango winced.

"…or," Djas chuckled. "You can give me your ship and your weapons, and allow me to blast away from this planet, leaving you stranded."

Jango was silent for only a moment. "I exchange these things for the bounty?"

Djas nodded. "That is correct."

Jango held up a hand in agreement. "Then it is a deal."

Jango had his ship docked to Djas' within 5 minutes, and _Slave I's_ engines were left running for Djas convenience. A last minute order had been for Jango to remove all of his firearms and any other weapon-like accessories, including his jetpack, and discard them in _Slave I's_ cargo hold.

In the cabin of Djas ship, the two hunter's stood face-to-face, each trying to stare the other down.

And Jango, it seemed, was winning.

Of course, this pointless show of strength was interrupted by Dexter Jettster, who was by this time scared beyond console, and nearly delirious within his racing mind.

The only thing that reached Djas' ears was fragments and half-completed sentences, most of which were pleads for release.

"Perhaps I could…." Dexter started, then switched thoughts. "No, I'll pay you triple, perhaps! Jango Fett, you're a good businessman! Surely you'll listen to reason? All the money in the world will… oh, god, no…no one's listening…'

Djas nodded his agreement with a smirk. _Indeed, my bloated friend_. He chuckled mentally_. I'm too busy being proud of myself over getting the upper-hand on both of you._

"That's it, Jango…" Djas growled. "Just stand right over by the control seat."

Jango took a few brisk steps and stood by the large, plush chair. At Phur's command of "sit", Jango sat; but he never took his eyes off of Djas.

"You're making a mistake," Jango announced as Djas headed for the access tube leading back to _Slave I._

Djas glared at Jango. "No mind games," he spat, and walked, companionless into the access tube.

Once inside Slave I, Djas Phur immediately took a seat at the control deck in the aft of the ship. Glancing over the controls for a moment to familiarize himself with them, he then keyed the rear thrusters with his forefinger. He grinned amusingly at the sudden rush of energy consuming the ship; but sooner than the ship was alive, it was dead again.

Djas frowned in concern; had he pushed the wrong button? Cautiously, he tried a few others keys.

Nothing.

Djas sneered in discontent, and pounded on more keys.

Still: nothing.

Djas whirled on the transfer tube, his anger such a blur that he would not hesitate to engage in a fist-fight, if necessary, with Fett.

Djas was near running for the door when, suddenly, a ship flying past _Slave I's_ wide view port caught his immediate attention. Upon further glance Djas also realized it was his own ship flying by.

Djas' eyes grew large with hatred and fear; he was in great danger, trapped in a locked-down ship while his enemy flew freely about in a lethally equipped one. Wasting no time, Djas pulled the hand-held comlink from his belt and barked into it, "_Fett!_ We _had_ a _deal!_"

"That much is true," Jango's voice crackled back. "But the terms said nothing of how our ship's conditions should be in."

"You filthy liar!" Djas screamed.

"I am no liar," Jango rasped electronically. "I am a bounty hunter.

"You have two choices," he continued. "You may give me back my ship, allow me to keep the bounty, and all your weapons; or, I can use the full-force of your exceptional weaponry and blast you into space dust."

"Ha!" spat Djas. "You'd never completely destroy your precious ship, Jango! The whole galaxy knows that!"

"Sometimes the galaxy is stupid." Despite the raspy helmet tone and poor comlink pick-up, Djas still thought it sounded as if Jango was chuckling.

Jango never laughed.

Ever.

"All right," succumbed Djas, holding up his hands. "You win. Take back your ship."

Then, maybe by chance but we'll never know, Djas eye caught the faint glimmer of a strange green light mounted underneath the dashboard-like base for all the weaponry switches. Groping with a hand, Djas pried it loose with his thumb and forefinger.

As soon as it was removed, all buttons lit up in an eerie red glow. Floor-mounted glowrods cast a pink sheen throughout the cabin. Most amazing of all, the engines hummed to life.

"Take back your ship…" Djas repeated more softly. "But not without a fight."

Taking a seat, Djas eased the thruster shift slowly forwards with his left hand, and the ship pulled forward with a lurch. Smiling to himself, he grasped the control yoke and pulled it sharply starboard, bringing Jango into view.

Djas tried to get a pinpoint on him, and found it easy enough; _Slave I's_ targeting system was top of the line, and did most of the work for him. But Djas took the pleasure of manually pulling the trigger himself, laughing as twin firepower broke from the forward mounted guns.

Jango lived up to his reputation all too well, however, and pulled his ship into a tight barrel-roll, at the same time rotating his ship so that he came face-to-face with Djas; then Jango pulled the trigger.

Djas met the force head-on, and it jostled his seat. Fortunately, he kept his hands on the controls, and when his head stopped spinning armed the concussion missiles.

But before he could launch them, Jango had already disappeared over Djas' head. Growling, Phur brought the ship into a Y-turn.

But Jango seemed to be hiding.

"Where did you go, Fett?" he taunted to no one in particular. But all too soon he got his answer as a stream of blaster-fire from above his head pounded _Slave I's_ shields to pieces; this battle had just begun and they were already down to 60% efficiency.

But the swooping maneuver had brought Jango neatly within targeting range. This time, Djas wasted not time in launching the concussion missiles, and they slammed into Jango with enough force to disable his engines.

And it did just that. The ship's engines sputtered and died, and it lay motionless, suspended in space.

Djas waited, every weapon beamed to the hull of Jango's ship.

The comlink blinked with an incoming message, and Djas accepted it.

"What do you want now, Fett?" he snapped.

The returning transmission was scattered with static. "I…don't… suppose you want to negotiate…the terms again?"

Djas growled "no," and let loose with every firearm he had aboard the vessel.

Jango's ship blew into a million pieces from a cloud of brilliant orange and red. Djas sighed in relief as the smoke curled away into space, taking the ashes of the once great Jango Fett with it.

Still drugged from the rush of combat, Djas was barely aware of what he had accomplished. He absently rose and started for the hull of _Slave I_. "Now if only I could radio Y'yas for the pickup point—"

The rest of Djas' sentence disappeared in a pained grunt as a pair of combat boots drove into his face. Djas collapsed immediately, and would have lost consciousness, had it not been for the disbelief that surged through his veins.

There in front of him stood Jango, standing tall, not even worn save from battle scars won in the prison complex far below them now.

"How…?" uttered Djas.

Jango bent over and grabbed the shiny, bald-headed creature by his throat. "Because I am smarter than you," he coughed, turning to throw the alien into an open escape pod. Djas crashed against the far wall, and the safety door slid shut.

Coolly, Jango hit the release button, and the pod scraped away from _Slave I_, spiraling down towards a passing moon of Kessell.

Dexter Jettster said from behind him, "you have incredible skill."

Jango pulled off his helmet, careful to keep his back to Dexter. "No," he coughed through a mouthful of blood. "I have incredible fate."


	8. Chapter 7

****

Chapter 7

"_Slave I_ is a little too worse for wear," Zam noted, two weeks later, as Jango piloted the ship through Coruscant's obstacle-laden atmosphere.

Jango nodded. "That she is."

"I take it this Flar Y'yas will be an east client to collect from?" Zam asked, leaning on the rear cockpit seat.

Jango tilted his helmet slightly. "He probably won't employ lethal forces against us, if that is what you want to know. After all, we did go through all that trouble to bring Jettster here alive, as required."

"True…" Zam's voice sounded doubtful.

__

Slave I broke through the high, orange-tinted clouds of a Coruscant dawn. Below them, a myriad of criss-crossing speeders and pedestrian vehicles went about their way. Jango avoided the traffic, flying above it all, and heading for the highest skyscrapers tops. _Slave I_ cruised between the buildings at an easy pace, its driver skillfully taking every correct turn.

To get where they had to, however, they eventually had to land the ship on a small, private docking space a mere one level above the underbelly of the city. A grey-colored world over-took them as they descended in a hover-lift, and the smell of rotting plants and concrete, broken only by the occasional gust of wind from above, filled their breath. But when they reached the ground, they kept moving, all the time keeping Dexter dutifully marching in front of them.

Jettster didn't try to run, even though they had no weapon on him; after all, it seemed he was intelligent enough—and calm enough—to realize he would most likely get a blaster bolt in the back if he tried anything even remotely rebellious. The occasional muttering would sometimes accompany his steps, but he was quite for the most part.

The patrons and wanderers on the street parted for the two; after all, most knew who the couple were. Zam, especially, was notorious in the underground. A myth of sorts, who didn't fear death and dealt out her own share of it.

Eventually, they laid eyes upon their target, the small café/bar. From the looks of it, not much business came through it. Its neon sign, once proudly displaying the title Flar's Drink and Food, was missing more than one letter in the name, reading more like a decrepit Asian road stand. From across the street, the hunters surveyed the layout and possible dangers it prevented.

"It looks fairly safe, to me." Zam shifted her eyes to Jango. "But, then again, some things aren't always what they seem like on the surface.

Jango nodded. "Stay on your toes, then."

The friendly sound of an electronic bell rung as the three stepped through the door. The room was nearly midnight-black, for the only light displayed upon the various objects in the room came in from the beyond-dirty window. And that did not fall more than two feet from where they stood.

Across the room, an over-head light switched on, revealing the long, handsomely finished bar and the alcohol behind it. Then another, closer now, flickered on. A pattern was revealed as, one by one, each light came to life.

Now it could be seen that the bar was smaller than all thought; no more than the length of _Slave I_, and the same across. As expected, no one—not even a bartender—occupied the space.

Jango rolled various thoughts around in his mind, but let them all wash away as a voice came to their ears via ceiling-mounted intercoms. "Bring him to me…" it crackled, the ancient machine struggling under its labor. "Back room… s…door."

"Did you get that?" Zam inquired.

"He said, 'back room. Side door.'"

"Right," Zam said, not so sure he was.

"He's right," Dexter piped up. "There is only one door in the back, and nothing else besides and exit and janitors closet."

Zam's eyes narrowed; perhaps she expected a trap. "You sure?"

An odd tone came through Dexter's words. "How could I forget?"

When they opened the door as requested, the scene they saw was far different than what the bar reaveled. Fine cotton seats, wood-paneled walls, and art hung gleaming brightly in the dimly-lit room. Most eye-catching of all, however, was a intricately finished desk, at which sat the man whom had started this whole hunt: Flar Y'yas.

"Hello," the poorly-dressed man said. "I guess you're here for the collection on this bounty?"

Jango nodded. "That is correct."

"And double the normal pay," added Zam. "He is, after all, alive as requested. And without severe wounds."

Y'yas leaned across his desk to look closer at the defiant Jettster, who was now absent-mindedly struggling to get away. "Yes, he is, isn't he?"

The sleazy man leaned back into his seat. "Well, that's a shame, I'm afraid."

Jango lifted his chin. "Beg pardon?" He demanded.

"Yes, I can understand your anxiety, but you read the Wanted holo-screens wrong, I'm afraid." Y'yas opened up a panel on his desk and pulled one of the numerous duplicates out. "See?" he said, pointing to the label on the bottom. "It says dead only, 10,000 creds."

Jango picked the screen up, studied it a second, then handed it to Zam, who glanced over it twice. She keyed a few buttons, then set it back on the desk.

She nodded to Jango. "That's a fake, and not the kind of money we came to collect," she said nonchalantly, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's been altered since we got here."

"That's impossible," Y'yas insisted. "They're all the same, always have been."

Zam stared at him with

"I'm sorry, Y'yas," she said, her voice completely void of any remorse. "We can't accept those terms."

"Oh, well that's a shame…" Y'yas' fake pity-drenched words came back. "After all, you did go through all that trouble to bring Dexter here…."

Jango's eyes shot to Flar's barely moving hand, rummaging around inside a drawer. After a moment, it came out with a gun in it's grasp.

"And I'd hate to skip a payment," the sleazy human smiled, bringing the gun up in a combat position.

Jettster started, and took a step back.

"We won't let you kill him, Y'yas," Jango warned.

Y'yas leveled the gun at Jango's chest. "The gun's not for him, bounty hunter," he chuckled, and pulled the trigger.

Jango spun in his heel and dodged the blast, at the same time drawing his guns. Flar squeezed off a few more shots, but all of them missed or glanced off Jango's armor. Zam pulled Dexter to the floor with her, but couldn't get her blaster free in time.

But it was over all too quickly for Y'yas: Jango had his blaster to the human's chin before either knew what had happened.

"Stay put," Jango snapped. "And log the credits to our accounts."

"And be sure to double it…" Zam put in. "As requested."

Y'yas nodded fervently, wiping sweat from his brow. "Yes, yes, of course. I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Fett."

Jango raised his chin. "I'm used to it," he replied.

As Zam and Jango walked back to _Slave I_, Zam asked a question.

"What do you think will happen to Jettster?"

"It is not my business to wonder," replied Jango. "But I think he's going to inherit that old café soon from a consistent drug user."

"Possibly…" muttered Zam. "And what about you? What's the next assignment you'll take?"

Jango stopped walking. "I haven't thought about it yet, Zam."

Zam lifted a corner of her mouth and narrowed her eyes. "I think I know."

Jango tilted his helmet. "You do?"

"Yeah," she said solidly. "I think your next assignment is your son."

Jango reached up to remove his helmet; sliding it off, he tucked it under his arm. "You know it's my son," he replied, looking Zam in the eyes.

A moment of silence.

Zam was the first to break it. "Take care of yourself, Jango," she commanded. "Maybe I'll take you up on your partnership offer next time."

She started walking away from him.

"Zam…" Jango called after her. "Do you need a ride home?"

Zam shook her head. "No… I'll rent a ship."

She walked away.

Jango let her.

It was good hunt.

****


End file.
